


I'll Live To See Another Day

by rancheel



Series: Not A Man Or Machine, Just Something In Between [3]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Injury, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Sharing Clothes, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rancheel/pseuds/rancheel
Summary: You're finally back in your apartment from your long shift at Metro-General, but your mystical boyfriend decided you couldn't take a break yet.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Original Character(s), Stephen Strange/Original Female Character(s), Stephen Strange/Reader
Series: Not A Man Or Machine, Just Something In Between [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1353640
Comments: 1
Kudos: 69





	I'll Live To See Another Day

You unlocked the door to your apartment, expecting it to be _empty_.

Yet Stephen Strange stood in your kitchen, the smell of coffee wafting through the air.

“Stephen?” You questioned, letting out a soft sigh as you placed your bag down, tossing your keys on the small hallway cabinet you had near the door. You heard him call back when your eyes caught some drops of red. You shuffled alongside the small trail that seemingly led to the kitchen.

That's when you found Stephen, who was hunched over your kitchen counter, dressed in street clothes for _once_ in his mystic life, holding on tightly to a novelty mug you got from a trip to Universal Studios.

His shirt was absolutely _drenched_ in blood, which was what made it clinging to his left side.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you!?” You were quick to walk to his side as he grunted, standing up straight as your hands found the bottom hem of his shirt.

“ _Easy_ , sweetheart,” Stephen hissed out in retaliation as you got his shirt up to see what looked like a stab wound. You had half the mind to keep your eyes trained on your hands, quick to switch into nurse mode.

“Do _not_ sweetheart me right now, Stephen.” It was quick, stern, and Stephen _definitely_ knew he was in deep shit.

You’d probably make him repay you by cleaning up his blood from your floors while you clean the counters.

Stephen let out another gasp as your hands let the shirt fall back down, a quick mumble of an apology heard before you were off rushing to your bathroom for your first aid kit.

You were still in your scrubs from your shift, and Stephen was already blaming himself _and_ feeling guilty. But he had nowhere else to go.

He couldn’t go to the hospital, too many wandering eyes along with the fact that he was too proud of himself for not going to Metro-General again. Claire was out helping an apparent mutual friend named _Mike_ , whoever the hell that was to Stephen, and Christine was out of town.

You were the only option left, and he didn’t like having to subject you to cleaning him up when he’s hurt since he knew you couldn’t stand seeing people you love in pain. 

Just like him.

“Okay, was it a regular blade or another magical one that will make me want to strangle you for even trying to fight off?” You asked suddenly as you flew back through your living room from the bathroom, navigating without even looking up from the medical pack back to the kitchen, digging through the bag.

“It seemed like a normal blade,” Stephen replied. “Do you need me to—”

“No, I got it,” you said in a motherly tone, pointing to one of the dining chairs you have with your small table in the kitchen, “sit. Maybe take your shirt off so I can use it as a rag. And _yes_ , I can get the blood out when I’m done.”

Stephen tried not to feel dejected when you denied his help and did was he was told once he put the coffee mug down, suddenly very happy he already shrugged his jacket off when he first sling-ringed in.

You placed the bag along with some extra supplies on your small dining room table as Stephen yanked his shirt off, trying not to make any noises of pain before the grey fabric was held out your way.

Thanking Stephen as you grabbed the shirt, you decided to kneel between his open legs to have better access to his side. You started getting to work by gently dabbing the wound with his shirt to soak up most of the excess blood before starting to sanitize.

Watching you work was always a treat for Stephen. He’s been told multiple times by you that it’s _weird_ that he likes watching his girlfriend as she’s sewing up his wounds that he could have wound up _dead_ from.

You were good at what you did, was his instant reply. Stephen was never one who complimented doctors or nurses on their techniques much, before _and_ after you met him, but you took his word almost as law. If Doctor Stephen Strange said you were good at what you did, you must be pretty damn good.

“What’d you even get this _from_?” You asked in exasperation, moving to dig through the med pack again for what Stephen could only assume was a needle and thread. It was a deep wound, he was sure of it.

“I uh, was on a mission with Stark and his _boy band_ ,” Stephen started, shifting with a grunt working it’s way out of his throat, “had a tussle with Loki.”

You didn’t hesitate to hold back a scoff. “That’s bullshit.”

Stephen loved you, even if you could call out his bullshit.

“You’re right, it’s bullshit,” Stephen replied almost directly after you spoke, clearing his throat. “Wong and I had this thing to attend at Kamar-Taj and it got ruined by some intergalactic stuff, got stabbed by one of our own who we believe was an insider on the whole ordeal.”

“Ah,” you mused, both in response to Stephen’s story and finding the needle you were looking for, “more Mystic Art’s lingo I _don’t_ get, gotcha.”

Stephen let out a small laugh, tilting his head back. “Mystic Art’s lingo? I expected to hear mumbo jumbo.”

“All I heard were the words intergalactic and Kamar-Taj and I _knew_.”

Stephen was about to let out another laugh before he let out a loud hiss of pain just as the needle went through his skin.

“You’re smart though, you know bigger words than those, Y/N.”

“Not when I’ve just gotten off an almost 24 hour shift, Stephen,” you responded, Stephen more than likely detecting your undertones of annoyance.

It was quiet between the two of you for a bit after that, smoothly stitching Stephen up just as the sun started to rise. He shuddered, your abnormally cold hands constantly moving.

“I’m sorry.”

Stephen was sincere. He usually isn’t with Claire, for the two of them love verbally sparring. Christine doesn’t take it, but with you he always finds himself apologizing constantly, even if you never prompted him for it and already reassured him that he’s fine.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, finally finishing the last stitch. “I’m just happy you didn’t bleed on my rug.”

The both of you shared a laugh.

“I knew you’d kill me, the kitchen was my only option.”

“Why didn’t you go to Claire’s? Usually she takes care of this.” You expertly finished off the stitch before grabbing scissors to cut the excess thread.

“She’s uh.. She said she’s with our mutual friend Mike?”

“Oh! Mike!” Your face lit up the second the name was mentioned, slowly shifting into a squatting position so you were already on your feet before to place the needle down and grab the big bandage you laid out previously. “How’s he?”

“Wait, who’s Mike?”

Your face when you looked up at him almost made him laugh.

“Mike? Are you joking? Are we _not_ remembering the codename talk?”

“Codename talk?” 

You groaned dramatically, peeling open the bandage as Stephen just now noticed you were wearing gloves. It made sense, your hands were never that cold when you touched him. 

It took him a moment to remember what you meant by the codename talk, but when he did he sat up a little straighter which helped you conveniently place the bandage on his freshly stitched wound.

“Oh! The codename we use on the phone!”

“Christ, it took you _that_ long?” You quipped as you carefully smoothed the bandage down before rubbing the edges.

“It’s been a long day, okay? And Matt’s doing fine as he can get if Claire’s helping him out,” Stephen replied as he looked down at your gloved hands, watching you smooth the edges down that you had missed.

“Very true. Sad that on Claire’s only day off she’s still technically doing her job.”

“You would prefer a blind vigilante climbing through your windows and ask to be stitched up instead of _me?_ I’m hurt, Y/N. Truly hurt.”

“You can’t climb through windows, Stephen. You sling-ring in and come in _unannounced._ At least with Matt I’d know if he came in,” you explained playfully before placing your hands on his spread knees to help get back up on your feet before taking your gloves off.

“Not all the time!”

“ _Yes,_ all the time!”

“No!” Stephen exclaimed again as if he were a child, holding back a grunt as he moved to try and sit normally, his hand flying almost instantly to his bandage.

“How’d you get in here?” You questioned sternly, placing your hands on your hips. 

You definitely got your answer when he didn’t reply right away.

“My point _exactly_.” 

“Matt’s footsteps are light! Remember the one time he came in through one of the windows of the Sanctum and scared the hell out of me?” You let out a laugh as you tossed the gloves into your trashcan, walking to your cabinet where the mugs were.

“You had your headphones in, Stephen, why _else_ would you be scared? I could do that with _or_ without powers!” You exclaimed with a quiet snort, opening the cabinet door before looking over at Stephen as he tried to find the will to get up. “Do you need help, baby?”

Stephen just groaned in defeat from your statement before slowly rising to his feet from the chair as you picked a mug he’d bought you from a small souvenir shop when he actually did go on a mission with Stark and his circus.

“No thank you, dear. Should be fine,” Stephen confirmed as he started to slowly pad over to where you stood, watching you hesitantly reach for the hot coffee pot.

“Are you sure? You have the _too much_ gene, remember—”

“Y/N, I’m more than sure my stitches won’t reopen just from me walking around.”

You let out a soft sigh before nodding to yourself, a quiet _okay_ coming from under your breath.

Stephen could still hear the worry in your voice and couldn't help but feel his heart tug with guilt _again_. Grabbing his still warm mug, he decided to lean against the counter to watch you make your coffee in what felt like a record time. 

You were placing the small container of sugar you have back where it belonged when Stephen spoke up again.

“Thank you.”

“You already said that,” you replied gently, starting to carefully stir your coffee with a smaller spoon as you turned around to face Stephen.

“I know but.. I’m just feeling thankful.”

You squinted at that sentence and felt your hip jutting out. “Are there more injuries I need to fix?”

Stephen could tell that your eyes were inspecting his bare top half just as he sipped his coffee.

“No. I just love you.” Stephen tried to hold back a chuckle as he watched your eyes roll, a fond smile growing on your face.

“Shut up. Do you want a fresh shirt?”

Stephen smiled smugly as he lifted his mug to take another sip. “Nah. I think you like this view.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t put a shirt on, Strange,” you quipped, finally stopping your stirring motion and tapping the spoon on the side of the mug. “Pink Floyd?”

Stephen placed his mug on the counter top of your kitchen counter, a soft thud left in its wake as you innocently placed the spoon you used in the sink.

“ _That’s_ where it went? Don't tell me you stole my Led Zepplin shirt, too."

He heard a second soft thud of a mug after you took a sip, starting to walk towards the arch way of the kitchen to get out and grab something for him to wear.

"That's a secret I'll _never_ tell." You smiled innocently as you stopped in your tracks just in front of him before getting up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "Hang tight. I'll get the Pink Floyd shirt for you."

Stephen couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face after he felt your lips one last time on his before you walked out, heading to the direction of your bedroom. He was quick to call out another thank you, to which you replied with a thumbs up sticking out from your bedroom doorway just as you walked in.


End file.
